


I’ll Be Coughing Painfully (With A Ho Ho Ho, Hee Hee Hee)

by josywbu



Series: Irondad Advent Calendar 2020 [23]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josywbu/pseuds/josywbu
Summary: Peter is sick in the week leading up to Christmas and Tony is his appointed caretaker. Here’s what they get up to, to keep up the Christmas spirit.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Irondad Advent Calendar 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029600
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	I’ll Be Coughing Painfully (With A Ho Ho Ho, Hee Hee Hee)

**Author's Note:**

> We’re so close to the end! And here’s some Christmas Fluff for you. I know I’m like so behind on replying but thank you so much for all your sweet comments ❤️

“This is the worst,” Peter whines immediately after plopping down on the couch in the living room and proceeding to hide underneath as many pillows and blankets as he can find. There’s even a little stuffed Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer that finds its way into his arms. He coughs miserably and pulls the blanket a little bit higher so only his eyes and a few strands of hair can be seen of him.

Tony stands before him, feeling more than a little misplaced for lack of a better word, and doesn’t really know what to do with the sick superhero teen on his couch. He reaches out carefully to touch what he can see of Peter’s face – more in an act of comfort than to check for his temperature – and as soon as his hand comes in contact with his burning, sweaty skin his pity is intensified.

He rubs small circles over his temple with his thumb, smiling slightly when Peter makes what he suspects is a murmur of affirmation. Resigning to his new assignment for the foreseeable future – or as long as his cold hands still provide a relief for the undeniably nasty headache the kid is sporting.

Internally, Tony is tallying what he’s learned about Peter’s state so far: high fever, headache and a dry cough.

From the way he’s miserably curled up on the couch he suspects an overall gross feeling. Unwittingly, his heart squeezes painfully in his chest at the sight and the wish to take all the pain from him is as startling as it’s intense.

“I know being sick must suck,” he acknowledges quietly, “But you’ll have the best 24/7 care anyone’s ever seen and you’ll be back to your healthy, bubbly self in no time.”

“But it’s Christmas,” he whines again, shifting from his previous position that now feels unbearable. Truth be told, every position is uncomfortable and he just feels uneasy and yucky. This time he takes Tony’s hand with him who generously grants him full latitude. “Being sick around Christmas is the worst,” he groans with a raspy throat and immediately falls into another coughing fit.

“I wanna do Christmassy stuff. Not this.” He’s not even self-conscious when a tear slowly trails from the corner of his eye down all the way to his chin because he’s hurting all over and he’s so cold and he had all this stuff planned and now he’s bedridden forever, probably. “It hurts,” he cries quietly into Tony’s hand that’s now on his cheek.

“I know, buddy, I know,” he whispers and – to his own surprise – leans forward to press a kiss to Peter’s forehead. A couple of years ago he wouldn’t even have been in the same room with a sick person if it could be avoided and now here he is getting appointed caretaker. “Did you take some Tylenol yet?”

Peter nods miserably, “I got some from our medical cabinet like two hours ago.”

Tony logs that information away for later and files a silent reminder to consider another dosage in two hours.

“Do you want some hot chocolate or a tea? Something to eat?”

He shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he mumbles, “I’m gross.”

“That’s okay, bud, but you gotta drink something, okay? Would you rather have some water or tea?” 

It’s quiet for a moment after that save for some sniffles until he shrugs finally and Tony guesses the words mumbled into his hand more than he actually clearly hears them. “I’ll get you some tea, alright? And then we’ll do something Christmassy.”

He gets up and quietly makes some tea for both of them (and then some), dumping a few teaspoons of sugar into Peter’s to at least give his body some calories to work with before returning to the couch.

Not a second after he’s gotten comfortable, Peter has changed positions again and is now firmly curled up around his mentor, blanket still pulled up to his ears. He’s holding on to the hot tea and his head is nestled comfortably on Tony’s shoulder.

In a low voice he orders F.R.I.D.A.Y. to put on The Polar Express and then turns his head to press another kiss to Peter’s temple, pulling the kid closer to him and slowly rubbing his hand over his shivering frame.

The movie starts and, half way through, Peter is asleep. When he stirs awake to get another dosage of medicine, another Christmas movie is already playing and Tony hasn’t moved an inch. And that’s exactly how they spend the rest of the first day of Peter being sick right before Christmas.

* * *

Tony looks up when he hears Peter shuffling into the kitchen on socked feet. He’s wearing at least two hoodies, sweatpants and what looks to be the fuzziest woolen socks he could find. His smile broadens when he notices the tiny reindeers on them.

“How are you feeling today?”

Peter plops down on his designated bar stool and immediately lays his head on top of his folded arms on the counter. He sighs heavily and dramatically but he’s already shown more viability in the three seconds he’s been awake that Tony doesn’t immediately start hovering.

“Better, I think,” he croaks out, “I’m still cold and my throat’s worse but my headache’s not as bad anymore.” He blinks up at him blearily, only now noticing the mouth-watering smell in the kitchen and, to his own surprise, his mouth actually starts to water. Or salivate. Same difference. “I might even be a little hungry,” he offers proudly and yawns because apparently his body wants way more than the twelve hours of sleep it has just gotten. His yawn promptly turns into a coughing fit and he makes a pained expression. “Ow.”

Tony pats his head sympathetically and puts down both a steaming mug with tea and a glass of orange juice in front of him. “Pancakes sound good for you?”

“Perfect,” he smiles tiredly and blows on his tea, warming his hands on the mug as he watches his mentor pour the pancake mix into the pan, flips the cake and finally transfers them to a plate. It’s a repetitive and calming motion and the tea is warming him up from the inside so that, when there’s enough pancakes for them to start eating, he’s almost asleep again.

“Come on,” Tony nudges him gently, “After this I promise we can spend all day watching more Christmas movies if you want to.”

Peter starts eating even though swallowing hurts and he’s about 90% sure that these pancakes don’t usually taste so bland but as more food finds its way into his stomach, he can feel both his energy levels and mood rise. Sure, they’re still only hovering above ground level but at least they’re not below zero anymore.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you put on some Christmas music?” he asks once he’s happily sated and has taken his scheduled pill because, apparently, his body temperature is still in the fever levels. He’s leaning against Tony in a mixture of exhaustion from the feat of eating and in enjoyment of the simple comfort physical contact provides.

“No movies today?”

“Maybe later,” he shrugs sheepishly, “I don’t just wanna spend the rest of my week on the couch. I wanna do something. I already feel much better.” He starts coughing again, the motion feeling like it’s ripping open his throat and he grimaces. “Fine, I feel a little bit better. But I wanna do something fun, please,” he begs with fluttering eye lashes. “And Christmassy.”

Tony doesn’t mention how his cheeks are already beginning to redden again and how his fever would probably need the entire day to finally cool down but he notes these things down all the same. He presses his palm against Peter’s forehead – already a little cooler than before, thanks to the Tylenol – and meets his pleading doe eyes.

“Okay,” he expectably concedes, “How about baking cookies?”

“Yes!” Peter exclaims and raises a victorious fist into the air. The gesture makes Tony smile, no matter how weakly it may be executed. He starts hoping he won’t regret this when Peter starts coughing again briefly.

“But we’ll take breaks after every step,” he adds just so Peter knows this is not a free pass, “And the second I think you’re overexerting you’ll take a nap. Oh, and mandatory nap after lunch.”

“You’re the best,” Peter beams up at him with a weak version of the smile that can make Tony do about anything he wants.

But they follow the plan, take lots of naps and rests and, at the end of the day, they’re both tired and resting on the couch but now they have a badge of (perfectly adequate, thank you very much) cookies to keep them company.

* * *

On day three, the fever’s gone and Peter already has a lot more energy and a much bigger appetite than before. He even accepts the hot chocolate Tony offers for breakfast for the first time since getting sick and it almost tastes as good as it usually does.

“I have to work today,” he declares after the last swig of his chocolate and puts down the mug on the table between them, looking up at Tony expectantly.

“You have to what now?” he asks, rather unimpressed with Peter’s plan.

“Work,” Peter reiterates empathetically, “I have a few gifts I need to get done before Christmas and I’m already feeling better and I don’t have to take that drowsy medicine anymore. This,” he motions to the grand total of things in their vicinity, “has really messed up my Christmas gift production timeline.”

“Is that so,” Tony smiles in amusement and, if he’s being honest with himself, completely smitten with the fact that the kid is crawling back out of the shell the illness pushed him into. “Is this like ordering things off Amazon or building stuff or –“

“Crafting,” Peter clarifies happily. He coughs and takes it as sign of his overall improvement when it doesn’t take him five minutes to recover from it. Anyway, Tony’s face is actually Oscar-worthy as he repeats the word incredulously.

“Crafting.” He pauses and frowns. “Crafting?”

“Yes, you know, it’s like building robots but with paper.”

“Paper robots?” he jokes and is left dumbfounded when Peter very seriously replies.

“If you want, I can show you how to make some Origami robots. Oh, by the way,” he perks up, “Do you have glitter glue?” At Tony’s uncomprehending stare he adjusts. “Or, like, glitter pens would be fine, too. And some sugar paper or card stock, whatever you got.”

“Anything else?” Tony responds drily, though, he’s almost laughing at the absolute trust the kid has in him to just have a stock of crafting materials lying around.

“Uh, colored pencils and sharpies?”

“Did you get that, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he asks directed at the ceiling – a bad habit that Peter rubbed off on him.

“I did, boss,” his A.I. responds, breaking through the soft Christmas music that’s been playing in the background ever since Peter has woken up. She sounds almost cheekily amused.

He sighs heavily, knowing full well that he won’t ever live this down. “Call Happy, tell him we need crafting supplies.”

“Will do.”

About an hour later they’re sitting knee deep in more crafting stuff Tony has ever seen in his life and he’s watching Peter having a blast working diligently on cards and calendars and what-nots.

At the end of the day, there’ll be glitter and glue _everywhere_ in his apartment, Peter will fall asleep approximately seven seconds into their movie because exhaustion finally claims him and Tony will have made his very first Christmas card for Pepper and May. (And Peter, but, shh).

* * *

When Peter wakes up the following morning he’s pretty much back to normal and ready to tackle the day. Sure, his throat is still sore and coughing still hurts more than anything should be allowed to and he’s had a small fever episode last night according to F.R.I.D.A.Y.s bio monitoring and, alright, he might not get through the entire day without a nap yet.

But, and this knowledge makes everything fade in comparison, he’ll get to go outside today!

Onto the landing platform of Stark Tower.

With supervision.

For a quick stroll.

But none of the restrictions on his biggest wish really matter because he’s excited to finally start moving around outside again instead of being cooped up inside all day, no matter how ridiculously big the building is.

He dresses in his warmest hoodie, pulls on a pair of fuzzy socks and bounds downstairs. (Until he falls into another coughing fit and starts regretting his life choices.)

Once downstairs, he tamely strolls out of the elevator, looking for Tony for their morning walk on the landing platform that he has fought so hard for last night. He does find him, eventually, but with a different sense than he thought he would.

“Oh my god,” he gasps and stops dead in his tracks, staring at the scene in front of him.

Tony is standing at the kitchen counter, calmly spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread and then putting it into a small lunch box with a wide variation of different sandwiches. He’s dressed in a simple black hoodie and grey sweatpants and he’s wearing a beanie.

And, yes, normally the beanie would totally be the thing that Peter would get excited about in this very moment and he’d never let him hear the end of it but right now it’s merely an additional observation, fading into insignificance next to the real shocker.

Tony’s singing.

The Christmas music they’ve been listening to the past two days is already playing and _Tony is singing along_.

To _I’m the happiest Christmas tree_.

“Oh my god,” he repeats, still too dumbfounded to move.

Tony doesn’t even react to it, he simply stops singing and starts talking as if he hadn’t just turned Peter’s entire world upside down.

“You’re not going outside in that,” he points to his attire which Peter finds perfectly suitable for their endeavor, thank you very much.

He gapes, opening and closing his mouth at least five times without finding the right words to comment on what he just heard. Eventually, he settles on replying to the actual thing that has been said – not _sung_.

“I know how to dress myself.”

“You clearly don’t,” Tony shoots back, frowning, “You’re still sick and you’re not wearing a hat or a scarf or gloves. You’re not even wearing a jacket!”

“Oh, like you are?” Peter grins, “You act like we’re going to Antarctica not just sneaking a peek at your overblown roof deck.”

“Excuse me,” Tony very maturely sticks out his tongue, “We’re going to have a picknick so go get dressed for the occasion.”

Immediately, Peter’s eyes light up. “Can we sing Christmas songs, too?”

With the heavy sigh of a defeated man, Tony nods. “Of course, we can. Just get dressed first.”


End file.
